


Cherish Your Sorrow

by Corycides



Series: 100 Fics in 100 Days [29]
Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-09
Updated: 2013-02-09
Packaged: 2017-11-28 16:04:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/676275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corycides/pseuds/Corycides
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From General to fugitive, it only took a single, hastily regretted decision.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cherish Your Sorrow

There was nothing left of the town but ruins and bodies. The smell of death – blood, shit and rot – coated Bass' lungs with every breath as his horse snorted and tossed its head unhappily. He covered his mouth with a gloved hand and looked around, trying to track the chain of events that made this (excusable) necessary. Nothing occurred.

He turned in the saddle abruptly, catching Jeremy's eye. 'Baker,' he said, too tense to allow informality. 'Go and stop Rachel's escort. She can't see this.'

Jeremy was staring at an old man who'd been pinned to a door like a butterfly, sabre pierced too deeply to retrieve. 'Hell, wish I hadn't. Jesus, Bass, if this was-'

The men didn't need to hear the end of that sentence. 

'I didn't ask your opinion, Baker,' Bass said, voice cracking like a whip. It actually startled Jeremy out of his perpetual half-slouch. 'I gave you an order. Unless you want to be busted back to recruit, move your ass and do it.'

Jeremy narrowed his eyes, but he gathered up his reins and turned his horse in a tight circle. A jab of his heels sent the horse cantering back down the road. Bass sent one of his escort to find someone who knew where Miles where. It took a while. Bass shouldn't have bothered asking. He could have mouthed the answer along with the man.

'He's back at camp,' the sergeant said, looking like he expected to be punished. 'With Drexel.'

Of course he was. Bass hide his grimace behind a cold-eyed mask and nodded. He sent half his escort back to back Jeremy up, he didn't want Rachel here until they time to cover it up, and the rest went with him to the camp. It looked bizarrely normal, white tents lined up in a neat grid and horses dozing in picket lines.

Miles tent was at the back of the grid, backing up against the woods. The guards at the flap twitched straight when they saw Bass, mouths opening. He silenced them with an upraised hand. 'You're dismissed,' he said. When they dithered he hardened his voice. 'Now.'

He let himself in, the vinegary tang of crack making his lip curl in distaste. Drexel sprawled on the bed in a stained uniform, his pants open and a whore pawing at him. Miles was sprawled in a chair, a bottle of whisky dangling from his hand. He looked on edge, eyes hot and heavy and body tight despite the booze. Bass was annoyed to find himself relieved that Miles was sticking to the old faithfuls of self-destruction. 

'Drexel, fuck off,' Bass said, stripping his gloves off. 'Take her with you.'

The drug-peddler laughed crudely, sticking his hand down the whore's top to grope her boobs. 'You're not the boss of me. Team Miles all the way here, man.'

Bass took a step towards the bed, before he got there Miles threw the bottle of whiskey at Drexel. The heavy glass caught the man on the shoulder with a meaty thwak.

'Get out,' Miles said, slumping back into his chair. 'Go get me another bottle.'

Face twisted in a petty scowl, Drexel scrambled to his feet and tucked his dick back into his trousers. He wrenched the vague-eyed whore up off the bed and shoved her out of the tent ahead of him.

'Oh and Drex,' Miles said, hand dropping to stroke his sword. 'You talk to Bass like that again, I'll stop telling him to let you live.'

Jaw clenched Bass waited until Drexel was gone, then he turned on Miles. 'What the fuck?' he said, jabbing a hand towards the town. 'We wanted to absorb them, not wipe them out.'

Miles shrugged. 'They pissed me off.'

Jesus. Bass shoved a hand through his hair, fingers tugging at his short curls. 

'So you killed them?' he said. 

Another shrug, this time with a smirk for good measure. 'They won't do it again.'

'Rachel's on her way here,' Bass snapped. 'You think when she sees this, she's going to tell us anything? You think when news of this gets out, people are going to listen to us? They're going to think we're mental bastards.'

Miles lunged up from the chair and grabbed Bass jacket, hauling him up onto his toes. His breath was ripe enough that Bass could probably get pissed just by breathing in.

'If you don't like the way I do things,' Miles said. 'Why don't you go and start your own militia? Get your hands dirty.'

Bass broke Miles grip and jabbed his hand into his chest, staggering his friend back a step. 'My hands are dirty enough. I just don't wallow in it. Clean yourself up, and clean this mess up. I'm taking Rachel back to Philadelphia.'

He turned and stalked away, furiously trying to think of how to white-wash this. Miles grabbed his shoulder and wrenched him around, punching him in the gut.

'Don't tell me what to do,' Miles said.

Pain spread hot and wet through Bass' stomach. His legs wobbled under him and he staggered, grabbing at Miles jacket to stay upright. What the hell? He could take a punch better than this. Suddenly Miles was hugging him, hauling him up with frantic hands, but Bass couldn't get his feet under him.

Pain doubled him over and he saw the blood dripping over their hands. Ah good, he thought vaguely, that made more sense.

*****

No. No. This wasn't right.

Miles knelt on the ground next to his friend – his brother – and pressed his balled up jacket hard against his gut. Blood oozed over his fingers, coating his hands like slippery gloves. 

What he done? He hadn't wanted to hurt Bass, he'd just been...angry. He'd wanted Bass to listen, to see that he was right. To agree, because if Bass told him it was OK then it would be. Everything he'd done was OK.

That wasn't going to happen now, because it wasn't. Shock and guilt burned through the haze of booze, anger and self-righteousness away, leaving him bare and raw. Ben had said he was good at killing, now that was all he had.

'I'm sorry,' he said, voice cracking. 'God, Bass, I-'

Outside he heard Jeremy's voice, arguing irritably with Drexel. Miles took a ragged breath and everything clicked together in his brain. He had to go, he wasn't strong enough to stay. Jeremy would take care of Bass, and the confusion would give Miles time to get away. 

He folded Bass' arm over his stomach, pressing his elbow down against the make-shift bandage, and scrambled to the back of the tent, crawling under the canvas into the night air. Cold air caught at his lungs and he heard Jeremy exclaim in shock.

It wasn't too late, Miles thought. He could go back in, make excuses. Bass would back him up if he lived. The cold thought made Miles shudder and made up his mind. He ran for the trees. That was the last time he didn't look back.


End file.
